They might be very bad at it but they were coppers, and coppers did not respond well to the Happy Families approach: ‘Hello, chaps, call me Christopher, my door is always open, I’m sure if we all pull together we shall get along splendidly like one big happy family.’ They’d seen too many families to fall for that rubbish.
you have to wonder if the constant insistence that potlatches were primarily about destroying property is just a holdover from the Canadian ban on potlatches. the anthropology texts from the 60s mention it, but i can't detect an excess of destruction even in their exceedingly polite prose about native practices
a 19th century chief admonished an anthropologist and the Canadian government for interfering in their feasting, dancing, and giveaways, not the destruction of property
the actual Indian Act law doesn't even mention destruction, it says "giving away or paying or giving back of money"
okay, and now that i'm on this research kick, can we all just appreciate the names of the copper plates they were giving away and hoarding and bragging about. you can hear it in the names they gave them: "[this one] takes everything out of the house", "longest copper in the world", "this copper makes copper", "all other coppers are ashamed to look at it"
and can we appreciate the related Hollywood brainrot that has convinced so many people that indian naming convention is some kind of pseudo-mystical/spiritual BS? and how wrong that is? like undeniably unfactual bullshit, but because it makes the new agers feel good it keeps getting a pass?
like the completely unsourced, but widely held belief that "Tillamoook" means "Land of Many Waters", but just, no. it's a chinookan exonym, like how we say Spaniard or Korean. it's a foreign name for the people that lived arond Nehalem. and it's not clear it ever meant anything other than "the people that live around Nehalem"
but like, if you were going to translate Tillamook to mean "Land of Many Waters", you've completely failed to capture the actual spirit of the place name. we have mountains named The Big White Thing, and Ours is Bigger, and That One's a Smoker. if you wanna "translate" Tillamook, you gotta get the feel of it right, Tillamook: Where Even the Fish Are Too Wet
(the atomic rockets to freefall to Canadian gov't PDFs pipeline is real)
Moreo came bustling up, all smiles. “King’s Landing, my lady, as you did command, and never has a ship made a swifter or surer passage.
“Will you be needing assistance to carry your things to the castle?”
“We shall not be going to the castle. Perhaps you can suggest an inn, someplace clean and comfortable and not too far from the river.”
The Tyroshi fingered his forked green beard. “Just so. I know of several establishments that might suit your needs.
“Yet first, if I may be so bold, there is the matter of the second half of the payment we agreed upon. And of course the extra silver you were so kind as to promise. Sixty stags, I believe it was.”
“For the oarmen,” Catelyn reminded him.
“Oh, of a certainty,” said Moreo. “Though perhaps I should hold it for them until we return to Tyrosh. For the sake of their wives and children. If you give them the silver here, my lady, they will dice it away or spend it all for a night’s pleasure.”
“There are worse things to spend money on,” Ser Rodrik put in. “Winter is coming.”
“A man must make his own choices,” Catelyn said. “They earned the silver. How they spend it is no concern of mine.”
“As you say, my lady,” Moreo replied, bowing and smiling.
Just to be sure, Catelyn paid the oarmen herself, a stag to each man, and a copper to the two men who carried their chests halfway up Visenya’s Hill to the inn that Moreo had suggested.